Headgames
by a Happy Psychosis
Summary: Written for bookluver123 and all you Jessa fans out there. A freak accident injures Tessa, leaving Jem feeling guilty as he, of course, blames himself. His prying leads to discoveries about their real feelings and also Tessa herself. 2-Shot, I think.


**Oh God, I can here you saying, not her again. **_**Mais oui, c'est moi**_**. (Am I the only one who speaks in another language just to confuzzle people and feel smart? You should try it, **_**c'est tres amusement**_**!)**

**Yeah, I'm back to tainting this luverly fandom with my ramblings. Again. I swear, my demented little mind is just chugging out One-Shots like The Little Engine That Could – only more disturbing and R-Rated. :D**

**Back to what matters, this fic is dedicated to bookluver123, who not only has possibly the most creative penname ever, but also left me a very nice review for WSI. So yeah, I'm writing this for her because- well, because she asked me to XD.**

**So, cutting myself off before the AN equals more than the story, this is for you and all the Jessa fans out there. **

**And for Tessiam fans who're just reading this because they can, here's a CP teaser **_**pour vous:**_

"_They're not hideous," said Tessa.__  
_

_Will blinked at her. "What?"_

___"Gideon and Gabriel," said Tessa. "They're really quite good-looking, not hideous at all."_

___"I spoke," said Will, in sepulchral tones, "of the pitch-black inner depths of their souls."_

___Tessa snorted. "And what colour do you suppose the inner depths of__** your**__ soul are, Will Herondale?"__  
_

"_Mauve," said Will."_

_~Will Herondale & Tessa Grey, Clockwork Prince_

***Cracks knuckles* Let's do this thang.**

**Head Games**

Hyde Park was a blessed collage of green that glinted in the summer dusk glow, with the sun making a much overdue appearance that people had ventured out into the evening air to enjoy. Women's dresses moved through the charming paths like a living, moving rainbow as they hung on the arms of their respective beloveds. Smiles were smiled, laughs were laughed, and it was overall a blissful day for the English mundane world.

And a few streets away, a boy was drowning in his own blood.

"_Jem? JEM! __**JAMES!**_" Tessa cried, fluttering around the boy in panicked uselessness as he writhed and gasped on the floor. Blood erupted from his mouth a good few inches as he coughed, the sickly liquid mockingly bright as it seeped across his deathly pale skin like red ink ruining fine parchment. He clenched his teeth together in a move so selfless – not wanting to frighten her with his screams – that Tessa wanted to cry.

_But no_, the thought sliced through her frantic, stalled mind like a knife through mist. She had to be strong. _Jem_ needed her to be strong. They were alone upstairs, fine and chatting and laughing and _living_ just a minute ago, and nobody would hear her if she screamed as her mind told her to. Knowing this she blinked away tears and muttered soothing nothings that she didn't hear herself into the boy's ear as he let out quiet whimpers despite his efforts, oblivious to the crimson seeping into her dress. She rolled him carefully onto his back so he wouldn't choke on his blood, fighting back a sob at just how _much_ of the stuff spilled over the floorboards in a hellish pool.

It was hard to tear herself from his side, but with a last pained glance she did so, vaulting over his bed and snatching the little box full of hope (and demon poison) from his dresser before tumbling back into a drop next to him in a move any Shadowhunter would be proud of. Her shaking fingers fumbled with the latch- only to have it knocked out of her weak grasp by a ghostly arm.

Tessa rocked back, crying out as a hundred tiny, metallic-looking pills skittered over the floor, some rolling through the blood and creating sick, spider-webbing patterns as they spun away.

At first, Tessa stalled at the thought of Jem having done it in purpose, a silent plea for her to end his suffering – which was something she couldn't have brought herself to do even if it meant he would hate her. And then she realized that he was having a seizure, body jerking and thrashing as though it was possessed, a string china puppet being lashed around by a boisterous, vindictive master.

Her frozen horror lasted only a few seconds before she threw herself bodily onto him, trying to pin down his flailing limbs and arching torso as well as her meagre weight could – which wasn't very well. She may as well have been a cat trying to wrestle down a stallion for all the good it did her, but she grasped at his shirt and called his name again and again, clinging on relentlessly. She hardly knew what happened when a jarring pain cracked across her face, and barely let out a yelp as her cheek seared angrily and curiously warm wetness trickled past her chin.

_Jem hit me_, she though dully, stupidly. _No he didn't_, she corrected, gritting her teeth against the aching sting and forcing the liberated arm back down resolutely, _His sickness did_.

With that firmly in mind, she pushed down with all the might her cursed demon-blood afforded her, and swiped desperately for his drug. After a blind moment, her fingers contacted something spherical that seemed to burn her skin like acid when she grasped it into her palm – it hurt so good she could have wept. Instead, she pulled the small silver orb toward herself and, grimly thankful that Jem's blue-tinted, scarlet marred lips were already parted in a silent scream, dropped it into the boy's mouth. Breathing heavily, she laid her hands on his face – yes, it felt just as much like porcelain as she'd imagined it would. Cold, cold porcelain – and pressed his lips together until she was sure he'd swallowed.

Faster than she'd dared to hope, but not nearly fast enough for her liking, Jem's body calmed to the occasional twitch and the flow of blood from his mouth slowed to a stop, leaving it to dry on his white, still face in ghostly trails.

After the horror, the blessed still quiet of her own ragged, jerky breaths and Jem's shallow pants seemed surreal, and she found herself at a loss for what to do except from softly wipe the gore from his mercifully unconscious face with the sleeve of her already soaked dress, and hope that he was dreaming nice dreams.

When the door exploded inwards and a tornado of blue and black whipped inside, Tessa was too tired to even jump.

"_What the hell_- Oh God, _Jem_." It wasn't until she took note of Will that she realized that her straddling Jem on the floor was a very compromising position, but she was too drained to even summon up a decent blush.

She moved like a sleepwalker, scooting away to give Will room as he darted forwards and skidded the last few feet on his knees until he was fussing over his Parabatai's vital signs. The two thoughts going through Tessa's hazy mind were simply that if Will was anyone but Will he would be crying right now, and also that if she hadn't felt inclined to move when she had Will would have happily driven straight through her.

Shaking herself into focus, Tessa brought herself round to peer over the dark haired boy's shoulder, watching worriedly as his clever fingers moved over Jem in a way that could only come with practice. Exhaling a shaky sigh which the girl unconsciously mirrored, Will ascertained that his friend was in no immediate danger and scooped him easily onto the bed. Tessa gnawed her lip as she looked Jem over; his colour was returning, at least, and his breaths seemed to be coming more smoothly. But his ever-pale face seemed troubled even in sleep, silver eyebrows furrowed in pain or upset, Tessa couldn't tell.

"Is he- I mean, will he be…?" Tessa turned to Will.

He started, apparently just noticing her presence. "He should be fine." He cleared his throat. "You, ah, you did a very capable job of this, Tessa, I can't tell you how…" Just as he actually switched his bottle-blue gaze from Jem to Tessa, he seemed to lose his voice as his eyes were drawn to a part of her face she couldn't see.

The warlock shifted slightly, staring at the stricken boy in front of her with a question he didn't acknowledge or answer. She moved a self-conscious hand to her face – his line of sight – probing lightly before recoiling when her fingers nudged the sensitive, burning wound on her left cheek. She flexed her jaw experimentally only to find that the simple movement caused shards of pain to stab through her skull. Her fingers came away wet with her own blood.

Her wince seemed to knock Will out of his daze and he took quick strides towards her, moving her head with absurdly gentle fingers to get a better look. He was standing so close that, from her position, she couldn't see his face to read his reaction. But the tensely controlled set of his shoulders told her that he wasn't best pleased that she'd been hurt. _Hmpf, it's almost like he cares,_ she thought snarkily.

"What happened?" he asked, and Tessa guessed that no one had ever put so much effort into physically _forcing_ themselves into nonchalance.

"He didn't mean to," she replied by curt means of explanation, reclaiming her chin from his deceptively soft hands.

He gave a sharp intake of breath, swallowing reflexively and looking as, well, _human_ as Tessa had ever seen him. "I- oh God, Tess, I'm so sorry – I should have been here, he- you shouldn't have had to-"

"Don't worry about it," she waved him off with a toss of her recently liberated hair, ignoring the way the swift movement made her injury throb in protest. She tried for a small grin, "It'll remind me not to get on the wrong side of Nephilim, eh?"

He didn't look even slightly amused, reaching a pianist-perfect hand towards her face again with a whispered "_Tess._" She darted out of reach, pretending not to notice the flash of something dangerously akin to hurt that flashed across his face.

She wouldn't do this again, she'd promised herself. No matter how sweet William Herondale could be, how well he could have you convinced that there was something in him worth risking a fractured heart for, you could guarantee that the next minute he'd take it all back and be twice the ass as before to make up for it. The roof was the last straw, and Tessa owed it to herself not to be swept up into that idiotic wishful-thinking everever_ever _again. _So there_.

"I'd best get to my room, then, if things are all alright here," she said briskly.

"At least let me take you to the Infir-"

"I'll be alright. It doesn't even hurt all that much," she lied.

"That may be but-"

"I'm fine," she said firmly, wondering absently if there was anyone else apart from she and Jem who could interrupt Will so often and keep all their teeth. "_Goodnight_, Mister Herondale."

Cringing at the use of his formal name, he started forwards, _"Tes-"_

The door clicked shut behind her and she hurried across the hall into her room as though it was a Will repellent, closing her own door quickly to add another layer of blessedly solid oak between them. Even through the thick wood, she could hear the frustrated snarl and follow-up smack that she could only assume was him taking his anger out on the unfortunate wall._ Add spontaneously violent to that list as well._

In the silent darkness of her room, the pain in her face was becoming the focal point of the show and she found herself blinking away useless tears from the sting. Walking into her bathroom, her eyes widened at what she saw in the mirror. Her left cheek was coloured an angry black that faded to purple around the edges, and in the centre was a cut that looked like a malicious red crescent moon was leaking steady streams of blood that trickled past her chin like crimson tears.

_Ouch,_ she frowned, only to hastily smooth out her brow when the pain spiked from it. Reaching for a wet cloth, she ignored the sting and pressed it to the wound. She actually hated herself a little bit, going on about a what was a little scratch compared to what the Nephilim of the Institute got every other night, Hell, compared to what Jem had to go through just a room away from her. Tears pricked her eyes once more, and this time it wasn't from the physical pain.

Sniffing, Tessa closed her eyes against the awful, harrowing images her mind kept throwing at her. Images of silent screams, of red-tainted silver, of spinning shiny pills just out of reach and of that cursed ruby pooling of blood that webbed over the floorboards- _the blood that she was wearing right now_. The thought made Tessa gag, and she hurried to tear the stiffly drying clothes from her body as though they burned her skin.

She ran the bath and plunged into the still-boiling water that barely registered from her numb bones but seemed to set on her wound like invisible, stinging acid-fire. Sickly sweet, rose scented soap scrubbed her flesh raw and her frantic fingers tore gore-caked hair from her scalp, but she just couldn't seem to get the weight of Jem's blood from her body. She didn't know how long she tried, but eventually even her stubborn streak had to let it go, and she climbed out of the now lukewarm water to slip into her nightgown still damp.

Tessa turned back into her room with the heavy knowledge that it would be a long time before she could sleep with the image of Jem drowning in his own blood burned on the backs of her eyelids. Her haunted grey eyes zeroed in on the _Codex_ that lay forgotten on her pillow. She still hadn't finished her reading up on warlocks yet, and she was in dire need of a distraction from the pain of the 'little scratch'.

Nodding to herself, Tessa lit her bedside candle, threw herself onto the bed unceremoniously, flicked skilfully through the dry, wonderfully yellowing pages and let the flame illuminated words chase away her thoughts.

..O.

…_much akin to that of vampires, and for this reason the race is often referred to informally as 'the psychic vampires' as their sustenance of choice lies in the raw, vital energy all animate things (consisting of Children of The Night, other Downworlders, the majority of demon breeds (with the few exceptions of this being solely negative-psykaphloraestic or 'duds' (see Index for compilation of all discovered specimens)), mundanes, MundaneWorld creatures and Nephilim included) rather than blood. From extensive research that has so far proved inconclusive to an extent, it would appear that the subject draws in the energy as a magnet would, channelling it into their own lifeforce which can serve as a lethal attack to the warlock's potential prey/predator (if contact is maintained and too much is drained, field studies reveal that the subjugate is sucked clean of life entirely), heal any ailments the Child of Lilith may have, or simply act as a charge of nourishment of sorts, whether that be of the physical or magykcal variety. Procedure typically includes the subject latching on to a certain part of the subjugate where which the energy flows strongest, or a 'release point', much like a leech – the warlock seems to prefer contact of either the mouth or forehead (both strong 'intake points', the 'release point's counter) to their respective prey's: spinal column, cardio section of the torso, jugular pulse point, temple or wrist. It is believed possible that the warlock is capable of transfer of energy from their hands onto any exposed skin of their victim, but these areas are apparently the most accessible and where the lifeforce flow meets, meaning withdrawal from any fickle point is slower and less efficient. Where it is of course clear that this method holds vast reaping for the warlock, it is not unheard of that the creatures often engage in this for pleasure alone, as the connection of merging lifeforces offers…_

Tessa's eyes unfocused and refocused irritatingly, distorting the words on the page until she was forced to squint and blink in the lowlight. Laying the book cover-down in mute surrender, she rubbed her aching lids – careful to keep her fingers well away from the non-bleeding but unfortunately still throbbing bruise.

Yawning and ignoring the sharp ache of her jaw at the strain, Tessa knocked the Codex to the side lazily before curling up above the covers; it was a chilly night and her nightgown was just a flimsy cotton, but she just couldn't seem to cool down, sweat sticking the light material to her body uncomfortably.

Her frustrated huffs, broken only by impatient tosses and turns, were interrupted by her door cracking open. Tessa started slightly at the unexpected movement before forcing herself to calm, peering out into the darker shadows of the hall visible through doorway curiously as she sat up.

Just as she was about to call out, a soft voice answered. "Te- Miss Grey?"

Tessa's heart gave a pathetic little jolt that she was sure the boy heard, only puzzling over the formal use of her name when she'd come down from her high of seeing him upright and breathing and _here_. Jem moved into the light, and the flickering candle flame sent a dancing glow over his form while casting the other half in an assortment of dark shadows and sharp angles while it turned his hair and eyes to a white gold that somehow wasn't sparkling as it should. Frowning at this, Tessa realized that while he was upright and seemed sated enough, the boy looked far from alright; dark crescents sat under his eyes like someone had smudged his face with coal dust, his pale complexion only worsening the contrast, and his mouth was set into a hard line as though someone else had slashed a knife through a delicate china ornament.

"Jem?" Tessa asked apprehensively. He averted his gaze and something tugged in her chest as she whispered, "Won't you come inside?" She wasn't sure exactly _why_ she'd whispered, as there was no chance of anyone hearing them from behind the thick stone walls, but Tessa felt that the guarded hush fit the atmosphere tragically well.

After a few suspended, tense moments of hesitation where Tessa half expected him to turn tail and disappear like a ghost, he stepped over the threshold. But he didn't close the door fully and he stayed as far from the bed as the room allowed, his inexplicably _sad_ eyes still focused on the floor.

"Jem?" she found herself repeating, for lack of anything else helpful to say.

He opened his mouth to speak, and his glance up at her lasted a fleeting second before it found its way back to his still-booted feet, but it didn't matter; in the millisecond their eyes had locked, she'd seen something fracture in them. "I…" he tried, but trailed off, shutting his dark-lidded eyes as if to collect himself and clearing his throat. "Miss Grey, I just wanted you to know that I express the most humble of apologies for causing you so much trouble and – and p_ai_n," despite his best efforts, his voice cracked on the last word.

"Oh, Jem," the words came out against her will in a breathy sigh. Of course he'd be upset, she should have thought of it sooner. It only made sense that someone like him would take an accident like a bruised cheek to heart so heavily, and her chest constricted at her own selfish dawdling while he probably sat in the dark and boiled himself alive in guilt and lying self-hate, just as restless as she was. She shook her head. "You do realize that you're being ridiculous just now? None of this is anyone's fault – least of all yours. It doesn't even hurt," she lied, throwing him a lopsided smile. "It doesn't matter anyways. Come and sit by me, silly."

"_Doesn't matter?"_ Jem echoed incredulously, eyes blazing and focused on her purpling cheek and only pressing himself further backwards. "Of course it _matters!_ You shouldn't have been put in a position such as that at all, I should have been more careful. I should have- I _shouldn't_ have…" he inhaled deeply, pressing the heels of his shaking hands over his eyes. As she watched, speechless at his outburst, the boy's legs seemed to give out and he slid down the wall into a sprawl on the floor, one leg pulled to his chest and his head in his hands. Tessa wondered if the fine tremors spanning his form were just a trick of the candle's twisting flame.

At a loss for how to react to calm, collected Jem in such a state, Tessa found her body moving automatically over to him, crawling closer to his level without a thought of her white nightgown. When she laid a gentle hand on his forearm, he jerked back as though she had burned him – or as though he feared he would burn _her_. Ignoring his frankly weak attempts at shrinking away, Tessa leaned stubbornly over to weave her nimble fingers through his slender ones that were fisted in his mercury hair tight enough to tear his scalp, running her tips over his lightly until the tension recoiled and she could bring his hands to settle between them, although she couldn't find it in her to release them entirely; they really did feel like soft porcelain.

Instead, she nudged the door closed with her bare foot, muttering something about a draft by ways of explanation.

"Oh," said Jem, "I'm sorry. I just thought that maybe you wouldn't like to be closed off in here."_ With me._ She could hear the unfinished end of his sentence and had to hold back a scoff. He'd never hurt her on purpose, she knew that. But apparently he didn't know she knew.

Reaching up, she pushed the unruly strands of silver hair from his face even as he flinched from the gentle touch. When she pulled her hand back, he was finally looking at her. Well, at the mark. His eyes were wide and dull, the glowing silver turning to a dimmed out slate as he stared, unable to tear his gaze away, at the damage he'd caused. His jaw worked as he seemed to fight something that wanted to lash out like pressure building beneath a geyser.

"Hey, hey…" Tessa mumbled, placing two fingers beneath Jem's chin and bringing him around to look her in the eye. He seemed to focus like a dreamer waking from a doze – in his case a nightmare. "You couldn't have done anything about it, Jem, it wasn't your fault at all," she said softly, as though she was talking to an animal she didn't want to spook. "And if we went back, I'd do the exact same thing over again. Besides," she shrugged casually, even throwing in a wink, "I kind of like it; makes me look tough."

He stared at her for a few more seconds, before he let out a helpless, breathy laugh that Tessa couldn't help but smile at. "You're impossible," he told her, and Tessa fancied that she saw a spark of his old gleam flash like quicksilver in the depths of his eyes. The ghost of his old friendly smile faded after a moment, leaving way to something heavier.

Something very simple but very dangerous happened just then – neither of them looked away. With friends, Tessa knew, you always look away after a moment, or you speak.

Jem didn't speak and he didn't look away.

**So? Shall I go on? Did I do okay?**

**I can haz cookie now pweez? :D**

**SERIOUSLY OH MY GOD YOU NEED TO REVIEW OR ELSE I'LL- I'LL… Or else I'll be very, very sad, minions. T_T**


End file.
